An Unexpected Arrival
by Jem Kallop
Summary: Marik has an unexpected visitor. Citronshipping fluffy oneshot


**Disaster struck me recently and I lost all my writing files, including all my plans for my chaptered fics, plus a load of little oneshots I only had half-finished. So, I wrote this fluffy little oneshot to cheer myself up XD It's citronshipping, but modern with a past of thiefshipping. I hope you enjoy! - Jem**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!, Kazuki Takahashi does**

**Warnings: Rated for bad language, no smut**

Marik stared at the front door with a suspicious frown on his face. No one should be knocking. No one should even know he was _here_, but there it was – three short sharp knocks in rapid succession. Someone was outside.

_It's probably the postman_, Marik attempted to reassure himself, despite the unsociably late hour. _I've heard they do this sort of thing, showing up with mail and stuff._ Except he was fairly sure they weren't supposed to come right inside the apartment building and knock directly on your door, were they? So perhaps this visitor was a nosy neighbour come to enquire after the strange, quiet young man who had recently moved in. Marik had not been here long, after all. He debated merely ignoring whoever it was until they got bored and finally left, but he was supposed to be starting a new, sociable life here. That meant not ignoring your neighbours, no matter how much Marik wanted to. He grimaced.

The knocks sounded again.

Marik sighed and crossed the room, placing his hand on the doorknob. He pulled it open just a few centimetres, peering through the tiny gap with a suspicious frown. He didn't have any time to look at his visitor, however, because as soon as the door was open far enough a hand slammed into the door and forced it open wider. Then the stranger was inside Marik's flat.

Marik backed up quickly, staring. The harsh electric light illuminated the stranger's silky dark skin, his hair cropped around his face, longer than most men but shorter than Marik's own blond locks. It was an odd, light grey colour, though the man's face was smooth, so he couldn't be old. Most striking of all was the long, puckered scar that zig-zagged its way down the side of the stranger's face.

"Stop gawking, Marik," the stranger stated briskly in a dark, husky voice, "And get out of my way. I need to use your bathroom."

Marik merely stared, and he didn't move. "…Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I said, move, Marik," the stranger growled. His eyes narrowed dangerously and he leaned closer, threatening.

Marik wasn't intimidated in the slightest. He merely arched a brow at the man, taking in his form - just a tiny bit shorter than Marik himself. Marik didn't recognise him at all, though something about his deep voice was tugging at Marik's memory … but it must have just been wishful thinking. The voice didn't match the body, anyway.

"How do you know my name?" Marik asked with a glare. He folded his arms and jutted his chin out, standing deliberately in front of the man so as to not let him move anywhere out of sight.

The stranger paused for a long moment, sending Marik a quizzical look. "What are you talking about? You told me your name when … oh." He stopped again, glanced down at himself, and burst out laughing. "Y-you don't recognise me, do you?"

"Why the hell should I?" Marik hissed. But again, that dark laughter just tickled at his memory, dislodging something in the very back of his mind. He was _sure_ he knew that voice…

The stranger's laughter dissipated into chuckles. He folded his arms and smirked at Marik, and even that expression was familiar, though on a different face… "I'm almost ashamed of you. You've been inside my mind, but one change of body and you don't even know me anymore."

Marik's jaw dropped. His brain tripped and stumbled over itself, attempting to catch up as he stared in shock at the person before him. He blinked. It couldn't be…

"There's no need to look so astounded," the stranger laughed sharply. "When have I ever been gone for good?"

Marik finally regained enough of his senses to speak. "I've been inside several people's minds, so I'm afraid you'll have to be a lot more specific."

The stranger cocked a brow, taking another step closer. Marik forced himself not to skitter backwards, instead glaring straight into the newcomer's odd, light coloured eyes. An image of dark brown fluttered into his vision instead…

"Do you really not know me, Marik?" The stranger's deep voice had turned softer; almost silky. Two dark fingers reached out to touch Marik's chin, holding his face with a firm touch as the stranger stepped closer still. "Not at all?"

Marik's lips parted. His eyes scoured the newcomer's face, taking in every unfamiliar detail and trying to match it with the face from his memories – the pale face that matched that dark voice. He was sure he knew…

"Bakura?" Marik's voice dropped quietly into the space between them.

A look almost close to relief flitted across the stranger's face. One corner of his mouth tugged back up into a smirk and he dipped his head once, releasing Marik's chin to perform a florid bow. "The very same."

Marik blinked several times. He backed up another step or two, running his eyes down the entirety of this new Bakura's body, trying to match pieces to the one he had known so well before. There were small parts that were almost recognisable – that smirk, for one, and the shape of his jaw – but everything else was so … different…

"Much as I approve of your ogling, Marik, I really do need to use your bathroom." Bakura's darkly amused voice cut back across Marik's thoughts.

Marik merely nodded dumbly. His brain was still trying to catch up with reality, so he pointed down the hall with slightly glazed eyes. "Uh, yeah, it's the last door on the left…" He watched Bakura move down the hall with confusion etched into his features. As soon as he was out of sight, Marik walked back until he could sink down onto his couch, his eyes wide. He was still struggling to take it in.

Had Bakura really just walked back into his life, looking completely different, and then marched straight into his bathroom without a care in the world?

When Bakura returned to the living room, Marik was slightly more composed. He got straight to his feet and turned on his once-partner, narrowing his eyes into a furious glare. "Just what the hell are you doing?"

"Standing in your living room, by the looks of it," Bakura answered smoothly.

Marik hissed. "No, I mean … what are you doing?" He waved a vague hand at Bakura, his eyes narrowing almost to slits. "What the hell gives you the right to just walk right back in here after you left?"

Bakura's expression turned quizzical again. "What do you mean?"

"I _mean_," Marik snarled, advancing on Bakura and poking him firmly in the chest, "What the hell?! You just disappeared without word or warning, you didn't even leave me so much as a note to remember you by, I just woke up one morning and you were _gone_!"

Bakura grabbed Marik's wrist with a frown. "You knew I was leaving."

"But I didn't know _when_!" Marik's voice was vibrant with emotion and he hit Bakura's chest with his free hand, struggling against Bakura's hold. "You just upped and left one day, I didn't have a clue where you'd gone or if you'd ever be coming back…" He trailed off with a gasp.

Bakura caught Marik's other wrist and looked up into his eyes, expression serious for once. "You knew I would be leaving. I thought you were prepared."

"I was," Marik growled, "But I thought you would at least tell me when you were going. You were gone for so long…"

Bakura's eyes distanced a little. "How long was I actually gone for?

"Four months, two weeks, and three days," Marik answered immediately, before coughing. "Uh, I mean … a long time. Long enough for me to think you were never coming back." His eyes narrowed and he fixed Bakura with a sharp, tight stare. His expression betrayed more hurt than he would have liked.

Bakura didn't say anything. He merely stood there, his face entirely devoid of emotion as he glanced back into Marik's burning gaze.

Marik turned away with a bitter twist to his lips. He should have known that Bakura would do this. The stupid, stubborn, ridiculous thief probably didn't even realise quite how much his absence had affected Marik, or how much he had actually _missed_ him…

"Of course I was coming back," Bakura eventually said, and honestly, his tone sounded confused.

Marik gave a snort of derision. "That's what I mean. You're so _arrogant_…"

"It isn't arrogant when I knew I would return," Bakura snapped quickly. Anger was beginning to overtake him and he took three steps towards Marik, grabbing his shoulder in a rough one-handed grip.

"But you _didn't_ know!" Marik shot back, his voice lifting once again. "You were walking right into a trap, right to your _death_, and you left without even saying goodbye…" he cut off sharply, screwing his eyes shut.

Bakura blinked. "…You're upset because I didn't tell you I was going?"

_"Yes_, you dunderhead!" Marik all but yelled in his face.

"…That's it?" Bakura's lips twitched upwards and a low, deeply amused chuckle escaped his lips.

Marik seethed. "Is that _funny_ to you? Do you find it amusing to just disappear with no fucking warning, leaving me hanging with no idea…"

Bakura shook Marik, his eyes flashing with a foreign gleam. "This _emotions_ thing is all new to me."

Marik paused at that. He shot Bakura another glance, starting again at his new appearance, so different to his spirit form in Ryou's body. Marik forgot, sometimes, just who Bakura was. The thief carried his past with him everywhere he went; 3000 years of history in one body. How did his face not crumple, his back not break under the weight of it? Marik relaxed a little, taking another step towards him, and wordlessly wrapped his arms around Bakura's neck.

Bakura went still. His eyes widened just a little, his body warm but unresponsive in Marik's grip. His brows furrowed a little. "…What are you doing?"

"Hugging you," Marik mumbled back.

Bakura arched a brow. "…How long are you planning on doing this for?"

"Just shut up and let me hold you for a minute." Marik's voice was muffled by Bakura's shoulder, his arms tightening around Bakura's waist. He nuzzled as close as he possibly could. Bakura still smelled the same as before, despite his different looks. Marik took in a breath. "Gods, I missed you…"

To Marik's amazement, warm arms wrapped around him in return, pulling him closer against Bakura's chest. Bakura had never been one for returning Marik's affectionate touches, more than likely pushing Marik away, but now he actually held Marik more tightly than Marik held him.

"I missed you too," Bakura murmured into Marik's ear, almost too low to hear.

Marik went still. He blinked several times, uncertain if he had even heard that right, but he couldn't mistake those words when they were whispered with such conviction into his ear. He turned his head just enough to meet Bakura's gaze. "…You did?"

Bakura didn't answer straight away. His light coloured eyes were calmer than Bakura's brown gaze had ever been in Ryou's body, his expression smooth, devoid of emotion. There was not even a hint of a smirk at his lips. "I did."

"Where did you even go?" Marik questioned in a low voice. "I mean, I heard things from Yugi and the group when they returned, but … what did _you_ do?"

Bakura's eyes slid closed. Again to Marik's amazement, he brought his arms back around Marik and pressed him close again, his face hiding in Marik's shoulder. "I tried to set my people free. And I failed."

"…What?" Marik automatically pulled Bakura closer.

"I failed…" Bakura's voice broke, and it tore at Marik's heart. He buried himself further into Marik's shoulder. "They're still trapped, still hidden in the Items … forever…"

Marik's lips parted. So it was true? He had heard from Yugi what darkness was hidden in Bakura's past; the darkness that had brought the Millennium Items into existence. But he hadn't wanted to believe it. Marik's fingers twitched in Bakura's hair, remembering with disgust the short time he had held the Rod, and dared to call it his own. Knowing the origins of it now, how could he have _dared_...

"The Items are buried now," Marik spoke without true thought. "And the Pharaoh is gone."

Bakura's grip tightened. "What?"

"The Ceremonial Duel." Marik lifted one hand and gently stroked through Bakura's much-shorter hair. "My last duty as a Tombkeeper. It's done; Atem is gone, and I … _we_ … are finally free."

A sharp intake of breath sounded from Bakura. He looked up and took Marik's chin in his fingers again, turning him so their gazes crashed onto each other. Bakura's tone was laden; laboured. "He's gone?"

Marik nodded wordlessly.

Bakura suddenly leaned closer to Marik and crushed their lips together. He kissed Marik fiercely, his eyes squeezing shut as he tightened his hold around Marik's shoulders, pulling him flush against Bakura's chest. Marik started. His eyes went wide, body going still with shock at first, before he relented easily and gladly returned the kiss.

Marik's fingers threaded through Bakura's hair when they pulled away. He looked into Bakura's eyes and grinned. "So you just turn up back in my life and think you can pick up right where you left off?"

Bakura's dark lips twitched up. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Marik tapped his chin in mock-thought, tilting his head with a bright grin in Bakura's direction. "Depends."

"On what?" Bakura's murmur was almost an impatient growl. He brought his lips nearer to Marik's again, pressing small nips down Marik's jaw.

Marik lifted his chin for Bakura, chuckling. "Well, for one, are you planning to leave again?"

"Not without bringing you with me." Bakura switched his attention to Marik's neck, kissing down his collarbone.

Marik closed his eyes and hummed. "Mm … and you will give me enough warning before you suddenly drag me away someplace?"

"If I feel like it," Bakura shrugged. "But sometimes it's fun to be _spontaneous_." He directed his lips up to Marik's ear, taking the lobe between his teeth with a low chuckle. Marik let out a low whine at that. Bakura grinned, his arms moving to wrap around Marik, his hand dipping to the hem of Marik's shirt. He lifted it just enough until his finger brushed the first of Marik's scars.

Marik froze.

"I could still trace these from memory," Bakura murmured, his fingers ghosting over the rough skin of Marik's back. "Every single one. It's my story; my past. My loss."

"You didn't lose," Marik responded immediately. "The Pharaoh is gone, remember?"

Bakura sent Marik a wry smirk, still tracing the scars with just the tip of one finger. "You don't have to comfort me. I know well enough my own failure. My quest for vengeance destroyed everything I love, in the end; my family, my childhood home … and you."

Marik's eyes widened.

"These are my fault, too." Bakura's voice was barely a whisper now as he held Marik close. "If it wasn't for me, the blasted Pharaoh would never have had to seal his name away, and he never would have needed a family of Tombkeepers to keep his memories safe. You would have been born into a normal family; you would have lived a normal life."

Marik was utterly still and utterly silent.

"This is my fault." Bakura's fingers traced the last wing pattern before his arms fell from around Marik. He stepped back.

Marik just stared. He took in Bakura's lowered, almost dejected stance; his head was hanging heavily between his shoulders, his strong body curved inwards. Bakura almost looked lost.

"It isn't your fault," Marik hissed eventually. His hands were clenched into tight fists as he stared determinedly into Bakura's eyes. "It's the fault of the bastard who destroyed your village. That evil started it all, Bakura."

Bakura tensed. He glanced back up to Marik, and the emotion on his face was almost … fear.

Marik crossed back towards Bakura and placed one hand on his shoulder. He lifted his own hand and gently, cautiously, touched the jagged scar that hung heavily over Bakura's right cheek. "Besides," Marik murmured, "It looks like you suffered similar to me."

Bakura's eyes widened.

"How did you get this?" Marik asked softly, his fingers gently tracing the zig-zag pattern.

"…The same day my village was destroyed," Bakura whispered. "I was running … I just ran, but it was so dark, and I couldn't find my way out. And my mother was gone … I'd seen her getting captured, getting thrown into the flames…"

Marik held him tighter, letting Bakura hide in his shoulder.

"…One of the guards found me," Bakura murmured eventually. "When I was trying to climb a wall out of Kul Elna. He dragged me back down and he had a dagger. I was kicking him, struggling too much for him to get a good grip on my, so he just slashed. It felt like my whole face was melting."

"But you got away?" Marik's voice was a little incredulous as he stared at the scar on Bakura's cheek.

Bakura nodded with a wry grin. "Not just that. I kicked the guard so hard that he fell against the wall and smashed his head. It knocked him unconscious. So I took his dagger and stabbed him in the heart, and then kept the blade for good luck. My first kill and my first steal in one go."

Marik grinned back, though his eyes were still a little dim. "How old were you?"

"Seven." Bakura lifted his hand to keep Marik's palm against his scarred cheek, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

"Seven…" Marik shook his head. So young for your entire world to be torn apart. He used his free hand to take Bakura's arm and guide it back around to his back, pressing Bakura's fingers against his own scars.

They held each other, gazing into each other's eyes, and neither of them ever wanted to move away.


End file.
